An extract from a novel I am writing... be warned, its the most graphic, vile hard-to-read piece I have ever written

Hey guys, I apologise in advance for this, but this is a little extract from my book that I am trying to write. Its called Tunnel Society for now, but I hope to come up with a better name in the future. Bare in mind this is graphic, I feel like I am about to ruin any chance of a crypto career in writing with this one, but here goes:

But plans went on hold, as that gurgling Eric felt in his intestines at the front door returned, bringing with them a crippling cramp which had him doubled over in a foetal position... his attempts to hold a faecal protrusion almost in vein had he not carefully eased himself to the nearby bathroom...
... Simon lowered his music volume, crinkling his face and dropping his jaw as he bare audio-witness to Nottingham’s finest colon-blowout it has to offer, for 14.95.
Tears flooded winched eyes, as the agony of 45° Fahrenheit minced liquid spluttered out of his clenched sphincter, painting the bowl a violent brown-green, sprinkled with what can only have been undigested dried chilli flakes. The sound must have reverberated off of the bowl as a benefit-scrounging neighbour remarked a muffled: “Fawkin ‘ell...” through the mercenary ... his livingroom and that bathroom sharing only a five inch thick wall. Eric continued to flood... his balls wet in diluted diahorrea... it just kept coming.

He sworn in a blinding battle, as the temperature of the liquid increased another 5° degrees... clearly the hotter core of the sub-standard food bubbling to the surface as the eruption continued past the one minute mark...
“Dude, you okay? Thats freaky man... why are you coming over here to pull that kind of shit? Not cool...” cried the smoking stoner through the door.
He couldn’t respond... the weed had loosened his bowls releasing the volcanic magma...
“Simon! Simon... please man... I need you to go to the co-op and buy me and 8-pack of snow cones... I need to wipe my arse with something frozen and milky... I think I am bleeding man...”
Temperatures eased slightly as the sweat beaded down a strained brow... sporadic leaks sprung every six or seven second.
A cheesy Genesis keyboard flooded the air-waves as the air ways over-flowed with a vile almost misty vinegary vapour... almost like a religious organ signalling the re-birth of Christ in a cult cheesy 70s film. It was a lovely sound which Eric heard... like he was just coming back to reality after an acid-trip. He could hear a muffled laughter coming from the over-weight unemployed near bum next door... Eric’s taxes no doubt contributing to that flat.
Fluid dribbled from his nose as he began to wipe... but it seemed no use. Like the under-carriage of a light-aircraft that had landed in mud, it was a sad messy sight. Wodges of soiled paper filled the bowl... casting doubt in Eric’s mind whether it could withstand a flushing, as the roll neared its end... and typically... it was the last roll.
There was only one thing for it...

A shower was located directly across from the toilet, the hose capable of reaching just beyond the toilet... it was just a case of leaving the seat, turning the shower on; not too hot, not too cold; jumping back on the seat and cleanse... and it was not the first time Eric had to do this... no no... this must have been the third or forth time a matter of this urgency (and liquidity) had transpired.
After 15 minutes, Eric exited with a light head and empty bowls. Simon was on the sofa, pretending to be oblivious but unable to wipe that stoner smile.
“Much happenin’ in the world then, dude?”
“Some Chinaman’s nuclear reactor is on the blink” Simon interjected, a wisp of thick smoke clouding the room as Queens of the Stone Age soothed the mood with a lighter number.
“Those are Koreans and that is Kim Jong Un,” grunted Eric unsure whether to take his friend seriously or not.